


Now, Voyager

by angel1972



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gratuitous use of old movie quotes, Not Beta Read, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel1972/pseuds/angel1972
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not wholly human; they're super-soldiers, bred for one thing and that is to fight, to defend, to kill. But even the most hardened warrior sometimes wishes for simple things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Now, Voyager.**

**A/N: This story was written without the benefit of beta. Please forgive any mistakes that may have occurred.**

**Disclaimer: The characters in this story are copyrighted and are being used without the owners express permission. No profit is being made from this story and is being written purely for entertainment purposes.**

**“Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars.” Bette Davis, Now Voyager,**

Dressed in casual, civilian clothing, Steve leaned back on the park bench next to his partner, Natasha. His posture was relaxed, his arms crossed over his chest, a baseball pulled low to make it seem as if he were simply relaxing. But his eyes and ears were on high alert, their target should be showing up soon, and neither Avenger wanted to be caught flat-footed. 

It was a bright, and sunny day with a gentle breeze that carried the faint scent of roses. The humidity, and temperature had finally dropped to something that was bearable. But despite that, there was only one family in the park. A young couple with a small child, no older than five, was playing catch some 30 feet to the super soldier's left. Even from his spot, he could tell they were happy, eyes alighted with genuine joy at such a seemingly simple activity. 

A sad smile spread across Steve’s face at the scene. He doesn't regret any of the decisions that led him to being a super soldier, and the first Avenger. But he was still human, there were times he couldn't help but think of all that he had been forced to sacrifice, and wonder at what he was missing. All the normal things that the rest of the world seemed to take for granted would always be just beyond his fingertips. 

With a small shake of his head he turned to his partner, her face was its usual neutral expression. The red-head's eyes were constantly roving, and the tension in her body reminded him of a bowstring being pulled taunt. She could play any part necessary to carry out a mission, but there were times when her training, beaten into her since she was a child, shone through in her stance and the cold, hard lines of her mouth and eyes.

She caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye.

“Something the matter?”

He started to shake his head, to say there was nothing the matter, but then he stopped himself, and uncrossed his arms so he could pull his cap back a little. “Have you....have you ever thought about marriage? Children?” he asked, shyly. He realized his line of questioning was inappropriate, not to mention he was just opening himself for a lot of teasing. But he was curious, and it seemed out of all the Avengers, her situation was the closest to his own.

“You mean the house in the suburbs? The white picket fence? Maybe even a dog or two?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“No.” she said. Turning so she was fully facing Steve she quirked an eyebrow at him. “What brought that on?”

The blond man pointed his chin towards the family and watched as understanding dawned upon her after a few moments of observation. Pulling her attention away, she sat back against the bench and stared straight ahead trying to affect a nonchalant attitude. She failed, there was a tension in her jaw and her eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to keep away unwanted thoughts. 

“Never?” he asked, a note of disbelief evident in his voice.

“Never. I don't let myself think of things like that. It's a waste of time. I'm a soldier, it's what I was born to be, and it's what I’ll die as.” Her voice gets softer, and Steve has to strain to hear the rest of her words. “There will be no husband, or children mourning at my funeral, only an unmarked grave in some god-forsaken country – if I’m lucky.”

He stared at Natasha in shock, and fought the urge to grab her by the shoulders to shake some sense into her. “That is incredibly morbid. Do you really think about yourself in that way? That you are nothing more than a weapon? That you wouldn't be missed? I would miss you. I would bring your body home, and give it a proper burial.”

“Now who's being morbid?” she asked with a forced laugh. She didn't need to look at him to know that he was telling the truth, she could hear it plainly. But she spared a glance, and for a moment she had trouble breathing. His open honesty, and sincerity was raw, and palatable. She quickly turned away. “It was the way I brought up, to not think of myself as human, or an individual. I guess old habits really do die hard.” 

It's what they had told her when she was young, and was nothing more than a number, and a code name. 

You are not human.

You have no family, no friends.

You are a weapon of the state, by the state, and for the state. You exist at the suffrage of the state, and will kill at the behest/benefit of the the state. 

You live to serve the state, and when your service is done, there is only death.

After hearing those words, or some variation, for almost all her life, it's difficult to believe anything else. But despite what they drilled into her head, she could easily see Steve, dressed in his red, white and blues carrying her body across enemy lines just so she could have a proper burial. She could see him standing over her grave looking grim and sad, because to him she was a fellow human being, a teammate, a friend, not some hallow creature who can kill as easily as breathe.

She shakes her head to rid herself of those thoughts. She was free now, free of the red-room, free of their brainwashing and mind-conditioning. She was her own person with more friends than she ever thought possible.

“What about you?” she asked drawing attention from her situation. “Have you ever thought about the whole....family thing?”

“No,” he said. The lie quite obvious.

“Really? Never?”

Steve turned away embarrassed at having been called out so easily. “Not never,” he admitted. He turns back to her, and his eyes are alighted with something akin to resignation. He may have been slightly more naive, slightly less cynical than Natasha, but he knew the near impossibility of having a normal life. The moment those needles went into his body was the day he became something more/less than human. 

He looks down at his hands for moment. They're strong hands now, filled with blood, and muscles, and vitality. They can harm as easily as comfort, kill as easily as save. 

He looks up, catches Natasha’s worried gaze in his own, and gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I know what you're thinking, it's stupid of me to think of things like that. But sometimes, sometimes I get so tired of fighting so that everyone else can go about their lives unaffected. All I want sometimes is to go home, curl on the couch with...someone, anyone and watch old movies. I just want someone who is mine.”

To watch old movies with, she repeats to herself. She wants to scoff at him, scoff at his childish sentimentality, his desire for anything remotely resembling a normal life. But she can't quite bring herself to do it, because there are times when she has secretly wished for the exact same thing.

“It's not stupid,” she says sympathetically. 

If things had been different, the fates had been kinder, he wouldn't have have had to settle for scraps of normality. He would have been able to have it all. Steve would have made an excellent father, and a faithful husband. She could see him doddering after a couple of little ones, a nondescript female in the background smiling benevolently. 

She could also see him scaring the crap out of any possible suitors to his daughters.

Natasha lets out a light chuckle. 

“What?”

“I was thinking of you as a father coming to the door in your Captain America uniform and scaring some poor boy enough to make him piss his pants.”

Steve snorted. “And what about you? I imagine a room in a basement with a single light bulb swinging back and forth as you interrogate the poor kid.”

A ripple of laughter flowed through them, and then after a few moments it slowly died. 

Natasha sighed in resignation, and returned to her surveillance, as did Steve. The conversation was a nice divergence, but in the end thinking of what might have been was futile. 

“I can't have children, the serum they gave me.....” she blurted out, and immediately regretted it. She didn't understand why she felt the need to share something that personal, something she hadn't even told Clint. 

“Are you sure? Nothing can be done?”

Natasha gave a bitter laugh. “Not a damn thing, but it's better this way. Children are for normal people.”

Speechless, Steve reached across the bench and took her hand in to his. This was twice in less than 10 minutes that she had managed to shock him silent. He had no idea why she was sharing such personal details, she had never done so in the past. She always sat quietly in the background, her expression enigmatic, and closed.

He was glad, proud even, not at what she had confessed, but by the fact that she had allowed him a small glimpse in to her personal life. How much conditioning must she be bucking in order to even share this little bit with him?

And then a second thought came to him unbidden. 

She had lied to him. She had thought of starting a family. Which means there was someone out there who had managed to turn the Black Widow's black heart red with life and love. He wondered what happened to the man who was able to do this.

He wanted to say sorry, but he knew immediately that that was a lame response, and that she would smack him upside the head for even thinking it, so he just squeezed her hand.

“Don't --” she started.

“I won't,” he finished. It will be our secret, he thought.

“So, old movies, huh?” she asked after several moments of heavy silence. 

Steve nods, and chuckles. “There are some good modern movies, I really like how the special effects have evolved, but some of them are a little....too......intense for my liking. Besides, they're classics for a reason, right?”

“Right,” Natasha said in quiet a tone. “You know, I can't offer to curl up on the couch with you, but there's a Bette Davis movie marathon on tonight. You're more than welcome to come over and watch with me.”

“Pizza?”

“Pepperoni.”

“Alcohol?”

“Taken care of.”

“I'm there.”

Good, she says to herself and allows the corners of her lips to curl slightly.

It's dangerous to trust people, she was taught. They'll betray you you, make you weak. But she's tired of listening to those voices, they're ugly, and old, and reek of loneliness.

Having friends, people to watch her back, and a place to belong wasn't such a bad thing – motley crew though they were.

Natasha squeezed Steve’s hand, and didn't let go until the target arrived.

THE END.


	2. North by Northwest

**Chapter 2: North by Northwest.**

**Chapter 2 takes place approximately 2 months after chapter 1.**

**“War is hell, Mr. Thornhill. Even when it's a cold one.” (Leo G. Carroll North by Northwest.)**

_Last night, Natasha dreamt . . . ._

_She dreamt of a young girl alone in a room the color wine._

_She was clothed in a mint sundress. She was small, and thin with knobby knees and elbows, and large knowing green eyes. She was covered in the blood of the people she had killed, it stained her face and arms crimson, permanently dyed her hair red._

_Her back was straight, her shoulders squared. She had been in this room her whole life it seemed, staring into the endless sea of redness, waiting for someone, though she didn't know who._

_A sickly boy with sandy-blond hair, and sky-blue eyes stepped out of nowhere, and took her hand, kissing it gently. He was not afraid of the blood that stained her hand, that now stained his lips._

_“Come with me,” he implored. “Together we will be stronger. Together we will kill all the monsters.”_

_She griped his hand tightly, and they ran. She heard familiar voices in the distance demanding her return. She tightened her grip, and picked up her pace, and the world turned light._

_She never wanted to let go of the boy's hand._

~000~

It was a two day drive over the Canadian border to where her friend (or at least as close to a friend as someone like her could have) lived. Too long of a trip for a motorcycle, they could easily have flown first class in one of Tony's private planes, but Natasha and Steve decided on a whim against it. A road trip away from the others had a certain appeal to it, and they certainly had enough vacation time racked up between them to cover the extra travel time.

The road was long, and straight, and nearly empty. Natasha’s mind wondered to that odd dream, to that boy and girl, to the voices that even now chattered in the back of her mind, reminding her she was their property, their pretty little weapon.

The redhead gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head to clear it. She then gave a sidelong glance to her partner on this trip. Steve was reclining slightly in the passenger seat, his eyes were closed, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He was dressed in what Tony often referred to as his 'old man clothes', a plaid shirt with sleeves pushed up, white t-shirt peeking through the top, and vintage indigo jeans. His only concession to modern times was a digital watch, and brand new black and white sneakers.

His arm was on the arm rest, and for a brief moment she was tempted to take his hand and hold it tight.

She shook her head again, this time with a little more vigor, frustrated with the turn her thoughts had momentarily taken. These men, and their women, were making her soft. And there was a part of her, the apathetic Black Widow who was created through torture, and anger, and hatred who just wanted to push them all away, especially Steve, whom she felt was getting dangerously close to her. And then there was Natasha, who despite everything wanted something more than death, and war. 

She grabbed his hand, and held it tightly, willing the Widow back into its cave.

Waking with a start, the blond stared at their joined hands, and noticed her white-knuckled grip. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and gave her a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Had he been normal, his hand would have surely been severely bruised. Fortunately he wasn't, so her grip was more an emotional concern, than physical pain.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Can't a girl hold your hand without you thinking something is wrong?” 

“Of course, she can” he said. Idly he rubbed circles onto the back of her hand with his thumb. He let the matter go for the moment. “Are we almost there?”

“Yes, just another couple of hours,” she said, glad for the topic change. She glanced at him. “You didn't have to come with me, you know.”

“I know. But I wanted to come with you. I like spending time with you, but you do know Tony is going to give us hell the next time he sees us?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Don't remind me. He wants to know whether I’ve deflowered you yet.”

It was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. “Geez, that guy has no tact,” he muttered. “And why does everyone assume I’m a virgin? I was on the road with a lot of beautiful, and willing women before I started fighting. And even then I had plenty of opportunities.” 

The redhead quirked an eyebrow at him, and chuckled at his exasperation. “First, Peggy would have shot the women in the face, and you in the balls, and secondly, that's just not you. You're not a player, you’re a one woman man, and whom ever gets you is going to be very lucky.”

The blond man sighed deeply, and looked out the passenger window.

“Hey,” Natasha said. She tugged at his hand to get his attention. “There's nothing wrong with that.”

“Is there?” he asked archly. “It seems that nowadays if you haven't had multiple partners, than something must be wrong with you. You're either closeted or repressed,” he said with a sigh.. “I just think that sex should mean something.”

“Yeah, it should,” Natasha said quietly. For a brief moment she saw herself as a 10-year-old. She had yet to bud into a young woman, but already her handlers from the red room were teaching her how to seduce, and beguile a target.

“Natasha, are you okay?” he looked down at their joined hands and saw that once again her knuckles were white from the pressure she was using.

“Are you – are you having some kind of flashback? Should I drive the rest of the way?” 

“No. It's nothing; I’m fine,” she replied. She pulled her hand away, and took hold of the steering wheel, made a show of showing him how well her attention was on the road. And maybe she would have fooled someone else, or at least intimidated someone else into thinking she was telling the truth, but Steve wasn't fooled or intimidated. He insisted they pull over into the next rest stop, and she reluctantly agreed. 

With the engine off, Steve unbuckled his seat-belt and then her's, he then captured her face between his hands and pulled it so that they were eye-to-eye. His hands are strong and warm, and she resisted the urge to lean into them.

“Talk to me, Tasha. I thought we had something growing between the two of us, now it feels like you're pushing me away.”

The redhead closed her eyes almost as if in defeat.

“Look at me,” Steve ordered. “Talk to me.”

Her eyes snapped open. “I don't know what's the matter with me,” she said with a sigh. “And I don't like it. I don't like not knowing what's going on with my own head. I had enough of that shit with the red room. I don't need it here.”

Steve frowned. Always the red room, he thought. He wished he could burn the place down and kill everyone of her handlers with his bare hands for what they did Natasha. The hell they had put her through will always hang around her neck like an albatross. 

“I can still hear their voices, like chattering crickets in the back of my head telling me I belong to them, that I’m not human.”

“Have you thought about speaking to someone?”

“I'm speaking to you, aren't I?”

“I mean professionally.”

“I know what you mean. I don't want to speak to some shrink, I don't trust them to not go running to Fury. I trust you, believe it or not. Why else would I be dragging you out into the middle of freaking Canada?”

Steve laughed softly, and lets go of her face. He rested his head against her shoulder, and she mirrored his actions. their arms wrapped around each other, forming an oddly colored cocoon, his dark colored clothing contrasting with her pale green sundress. They breathed deeply, their enhanced sense of smell taking in each, and every nuance of the other.

She slipped a deceptively thin, delicate hand up along along his arm and underneath his shirt where she traced barely noticeable childhood scars along his shoulder blade.

“I got beat up a lot as a kid,” he said by way of explanation. “Some where more enthusiastic than others.” 

“Kids,” she said, her voice little more than a growl. 

“Yeah, kids,” he agreed. Not that adults could be any better, as evidence by Natasha’s own upbringing. Silence fell upon them after that, and stayed for several minutes. “Why me? Out of all the people you could bring with you, why me?”

With a sigh, the redhead pulled away; Steve thought he had angered her. She regained her composure and buckled her seat belt. It was nearly a minute before she answered. “I told you, I trust you. But there's more to it than that.”

Steve stared intently at his companion. He knew what she was saying was taking a great deal of courage, and he was not about to interrupt her. 

“I like you, Steve,” and there's a note of disbelief in her voice. “You're a good man, a good soldier, a good everything. I would follow you to the gates of hell, and then right through them to the other side.”

Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, and the blond male was surprised she hadn't warped the steering wheel. “It's been a long time since I let anyone in, trusted anyone to see anything but the Black Widow, but for some reason I want that person to be you.”

Steve blinked in surprise, and then smiled. “I like you too Natasha.” He pried her fingers from the the wheel, and massaged them to allow circulation to flow. He kissed each finger, and then each palm and then finally her lips. He knew this was a bold move, and that the redhead could easily punch him in the face, but she didn't. Instead she leaned into the kiss, ran her hands through his hair as she deepened it, and allowed him to take the lead for a few moments. 

The car was quickly filled with soft moans as the two super-soldiers, able to go without breathing for several minutes, kissed deeply, and without reserve. They took turns exploring the other's mouth, and their hands roamed through hair, and over what little bare skin there was. Natasha wasn't sure if she should damn the seat belt for keeping her from jumping on top of Steve’s lap, or be glad for the restraint. 

It was only with supreme willpower that the two were able to pull apart. They were panting lightly, their lips were kiss-swollen, their pupils dilated, their hair mussed. “We better get going,” Natasha said while stroking his face with a shaky hand.

“Right,” Steve said with a great deal of reluctance, his body quivering slightly. He ignored, as best he could, the growing pressure in his pants, the scent of her pheromones that in such a confined space, and with his sensitive nose was overpowering. He opened the window and breathed deeply. After a few minutes, he buckled his seat belt before returning his arm to the armrest, but refused to look the redhead in the eyes.

“Steve,” she said, trying to get his attention. “Steve? Do you really want your first time to be in the front seat of Tony's car?”

“No. I'm sorry, I just can't look at you right now. You're too beautiful. And I want to do this right.”

“Sex should mean something, right?”

“Right. When we get back I want to take you out on actual dates, like normal people.”

She wanted to remind him that they were not normal, nor have they been for a great many years. Instead she grabbed his hand, and held it, not in a death grip, but tightly and lovingly. “I would love to go on dates with you.” There was a genuine smile on her face as she turned the ignition, and led them back on to the road.

_She never wanted to let go of the boy's hand._


	3. Holiday

**Holiday.**

**Linda Seton: You've got no faith in Johnny, have you, Julia? His little dream may fall flat, you think. Well, so it may, what if it should? There'll be another. Oh, I've got all the faith in the world in Johnny. Whatever he does is all right with me. If he wants to dream for a while, he can dream for a while, and if he wants to come back and sell peanuts, oh, how I'll believe in those peanuts! (Katharine Hepburn – Holiday 1938)**

Natasha sat in the window seat of her friend's guest room, a forgotten book of poetry lay to the side, her lips upturned in a gentle smile that most would find quite foreign on her face. She watched her companion's reflection in the panes of glass, as he brushed his teeth, with an unguarded affection, and tenderness that she had long thought had been stolen/beaten out of her. 

Is this what it's like to be normal, she wondered. Brushing their teeth? Getting ready for bed after a long day? Cuddling on the couch, watching old movies? Was it dinner, and breakfast, and lunch where no words needed to be exchanged? Was it knowing he liked mayo, but not mustard, and him knowing just the right ratio of peanut butter to jelly?

Her eyes flickered to Steve, and she watched him swish mouthwash around, his checks were puffed out like a chipmunk's. He caught Natasha's eyes, and gave her a wink, and her smile widened before turning back to the window. 

It was getting late, nearly 11, and the lights in the houses across from her were mostly extinguished, and the minutes ticked by in peaceful silence. 

She stretched long, lethal, limbs and yawned deeply before returning to her earlier contemplative expression. The blond male couldn't help but give pause, the words he was about to say momentarily dying on his tongue. He stared in appreciation, as both a male and an artist, at the soft curvature, and the hard planes of her body. 

In these unguarded moments, when it was just the two of them, it was easy to forget they were merely soldiers, tools to be used at others whim. Here they were just a woman and a man. A woman and a man who may or may not be heading towards something bigger, and more lasting then either one thought possible.

“You're brooding,” Steve said from the doorway of the bathroom. “We're on vacation. You're not allowed to brood at all,” he chided.

“What do I look like? A moody teenager? I was not brooding, I was just staring out the window, thinking.”

“Well you're not allowed to think on vacation either. That's an order.”

Natasha gave an exaggerated salute to him, and then stretched her arms out in silent invitation to join her. He padded across the carpeted floor, and easily lifting her up, positioned them so that she was sitting across his lap. They both took a moment to stare up at the night sky. 

He was dressed for bed in black pajama bottoms, and a matching t-shit, while Natasha was wearing a baggy t-shirt, and plaid shorts. They were both barefooted. And what little make-up she had worn during the day had been washed off.

“You're awfully bold, Captain,” Natasha teased. “Manhandling me like that.”

But she made no move to punish him for touching her without permission, nor did she try to move away from him. Instead she wrapped her arms around him, and rested her head against his chest. She focused her attention on his heartbeat, and found that it was better than any lullaby. 

“You know, most men are terrified of me. They think I can kill them with an eyelash, and a used Kleenex.”

“Well, I guess it's good I'm not most men,” Steve said. He's not sure why, but he's confident around her in a way he's never been around most other women. Which was ironic, considering that her reputation proceeds her by miles, and miles to the point were, like she said, most men (and women) were frightened out of their skin of her. “Can you kill someone with an eyelash, and used Kleenex?”

“No!” she said laughing, and punched him in the chest for good measure. “Floss makes a good garrotte if you're in a bind. Toothpicks come in handy too, you can stab an eye out with them. But they're more a diversionary tactic, of course.” 

“Of course,” the blond muttered, sorry he brought the subject up. “Can I put a ban on talking shop while on vacation?”

Natasha pouted. “Killjoy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right, I'm the killjoy for not wanting to discuss 50 ways to kill a man using things you find in the bathroom on my vacation. Shame on me,” he said. He paused momentarily, and then his curiosity got the better of him. “What were you thinking? Before.”

The redhead shook her head dismissively. “It was nothing. Nothing important.”

“You know you can trust me with anything right? You don't have to carry your burdens alone,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, and kissed his cheek. “But it really wasn't anything earthshaking, or angst ridden. I promise.”

Steve nodded his head in acceptance, and ran his hand up and down her legs in a manner that was worshipful. As if he were afraid she would disappear suddenly, and without a trace, so he was committing to memory the curve of her muscles, the plains of her bone.

“You're very tactile,” Natasha mused. 

“I got a lot of decades to make up for.” 

It was meant to light and flirty, but instead there was a note of sad loneliness to it. He thought of the ice and the cold, impossibly cold water embracing, and pulling him down, and under. He thought of Peggy, and her gentle touches, and her sweet smiles that she seemed to only share with him. He thought of his mother, and Bucky. He thought of bullies, and the crack of knuckles against his defenseless flesh, and later the crack of his own knuckles striking against the monsters in both the past, and present time.

A million little touches, both good and bad, all taken for granted. 

But not anymore. Not when he had been given this opportunity, with this beautiful redhead who seemed not to care that he was less than perfect, that he was always a little bit behind the rest of the world. He squeezed Natasha tightly to his chest, and she squeezed back.

“It's okay, Steve. I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

They sat long minutes, before the blond slowly released the redhead. “I honestly have no idea what came over me.” 

“It's okay. I think I understand.” Natasha reached up and stroked his cheek, his mouth, and his neck gently. So often people don't realize that enhanced senses includes touch. And that most people with this ability can be very tactile. To deny this part was liken to partial sensory deprivation, something that Natasha was intimately familiar with. 

“Do you regret coming with me?” she asked as a way to change topics.

“No. I like your friend, and I like her daughter,” Steve said. His gaze was on the starry sky. “I'm just confused about something. Mary told me she was part of the Black Widow project. You said the serum made you infertile, and yet I know for a fact that Clio was not adopted.”

Natasha sighed, her hands dropped to her sides, and she pulled away. She eyed the door of the bedroom. She could sleep on the couch easy enough; she's slept on less comfortable surfaces. She wanted to avoid this conversation. She didn't want to talk about the Red Room, she didn't want to think about the Red Room. What they did to her mind, and body was barbaric. 

“Tasha?” He tugged at her shirt sleeve. “You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Just don't leave.”

The redhead made the fatal mistake of looking into his eyes. (Tony once said dating Steve would be like dating a golden retriever, which she found at times like this to be an apt comparison.) It didn't take long after looking into his blue eyes for her to allow the blond to pull her to his chest. Natasha was enveloped in strong arms where she took her earlier position of listening to his heartbeat.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“You were just being curious. They're the ones that hurt me.” She didn't need to clarify who they were, he felt the way she stiffened. “Do you remember when the flu hit the tower last winter? Almost everyone was sick as a dog for nearly two weeks. We barely felt it. Our hyper-immune system made mince meat out of the virus. It would do the same to any baby conceived.”

“Jesus,” Steve muttered, and squeezed her tighter.

“But there is drug,” she continued after several long moments, her voice slightly muffled by his chest. “It's very expensive, very rare, and there's only a 30% chance of success.”

“But it is chance.”

“It is a chance,” Natasha conceded.

“If you could get some, would you take it?” Steve asked. 

A wicked little smile spread across the redhead's mouth. “Are you volunteering to be the sperm donor?”

Steve's cheeks were tinged a bright pink at what Natasha was implying. “I didn't mean it like that. I just want you to have your dream.”

Natasha's smile fell, and with it her teasing. “My dream?” she said with an angry huff. “My dream is stupid and dangerous.”

Now it was the blond's turn to huff angrily. “Why? Are we such bad people – don't say it – ” he could see in her eyes that she was going to interject something self-critical. “Are we such bad people, that we can't want for something . . . normal? Something just for ourselves? Even if it is dangerous, and selfish?”

Natasha couldn't help but notice that he used plural pronouns, instead the singular 'her' during his little tirade. 

“I suppose it's not selfish,” she said quietly. She paused momentarily. “But it is dangerous. I – we have too many enemies who would love nothing more than to use our own flesh to blood to kill us.”

Deflated, Steve sighed. And that was the crux of it, wasn't it. They saved the world, and killed the monsters, and what was their reward? More monsters. Smarter monster. Stronger monsters. Monsters who would take everything you love, and twist, and pull, and break them just to prove a point.

It was a wonder any superhero ever had a child, or got married, or tried to do anything even remotely normal.

But still . . . they could dream couldn't they? And maybe, just maybe if they were brave enough, lucky enough they could make that dream come true.

“You didn't answer my question. Would you take the drug if you could get a hold of it?” 

Natasha pulled away from his chest, made a tsking sound, and shook her head in fond exasperation. “Steve, it was just the silly ramblings of a silly woman. You shouldn't take them seriously. I wasn't made to nurture, to bring life into this world.”

“That is patented bullshit.” Steve said, his passion rising once more. “What's silly about wanting to have a family? Wanting a child? Wanting – wanting what everyone else seems to take for granted!” 

Natasha pulled back a bit more at the passion in the blond man's voice. “I – nothing is wrong with wanting. It's the getting, it's the whether I should get it, that's the question.”

“No, the real question as far as I'm concerned is, are you going to take the chance and to go after what you really, really want. If this is your dream, then I want you to have it.”

Shaking her head, the redhead sighed deeply. “God, you're obstinate,” she said with an exasperated laugh. “Fine, if by some miracle you can get the drug, we'll sit down and talk about it. Because I may be a modern woman, but I'm not doing the sperm donor, single parent route. If I do this it's going to be the whole cliche: the husband, the dog, the kid, the white picket fence.”

“I know, I wouldn't expect you to.”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. A playful smile spread across her lips. “If I didn't know any better, I would think this was some kind of campaign to win my heart, and make me your little wifey.”

Steve shrugged his shoulder slightly. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Maybe you're not the only one who wants the whole cliche.” The blond man smiled in spite of himself. “Let's go to bed. I'm exhausted.”

Natasha nodded her head in agreement. Her mind was abuzz at the implications of what he had said. He was offering her her dreams on a silver platter, all she had to do was be courageous enough to take them. 

She wrapped arms around him, held him tightly, and kissed him gently, chastely on the lips. It didn't take long for sleep to gently tug at the back of her mind causing her to yawn again. Steve lifted her up, carried her to the bed, and placed her on top of it. Blankets were pulled over her body, and then he stared down at her for several moments. He studied the peaceful expression on her face, her relaxed trusting posture, and then went about closing the curtains, and turning out the lights.

Steve climbed onto the cot provided by Mary (as a gentleman, he insisted Natasha take the bed) and pulled the blankets over him. He turned his head to look across the space between them.

“Good night, Natasha. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams to you too,” she said. A lazy smile stretched across her face. She then turned her back to him, so she could lay on her left side. Her actions weren't done in a dismissive manner, but as a way of saying that she trusted him to watch her back. 

Steve watched the gentle rise and fall of her sleeping form, his own sleep tugged and then pulled him him into the blackness of sleep. The cot wasn't the most comfortable, but being there with Natasha, seemed to ease whatever slight discomfort he may have felt. 

Is this what it's like to be normal? He wondered. Is this what it's like to be in love?


	4. The Thin Goes Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was trying to go for something less angst ridden. I was also trying pay a little homage to the late great Shirley Temple.
> 
> Hopefully I succeeded in both accounts.
> 
> But I doubt it.
> 
> Maybe I should stick with angst?

Nicholas 'Nick' Charles: A couple of weeks on this cider and I'll be a new man.   
Nora Charles: I sort of like the old one.   
Nicholas 'Nick' Charles: Why, darling, that's the nicest thing you've said to me since the time I got my head caught in that cuspidor at the Waldorf.   
(William Powell ... Nick Charles · Myrna Loy ... Nora Charles)

-000000-

 

Steve shook his head, and sighed, deep disappointment evident on his face. He stared ahead, his posture ramrod straight as he and Natasha made their way up to Tony's penthouse.

“I can't even look at you right you now,” he said.

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. “This is what we're going to break up over? Not my dubious moral code? Not the fact that you suffer from a malaise that makes it impossible for you to put the seat down on the toilet?”

“People have broken up for less.”

“I highly doubt it,” Natasha muttered.

The doors to the elevator dinged before opening, interrupting any further discussion.

Tony took one look at them, and immediately shelved whatever comments he was going to make.

“Trouble in paradise, lovebirds?” he asked instead.

Natasha tsked, and made her way to the bar where she poured herself a generous glass of red wine. “Steve's being a jerk.”

“Really?” Tony asked in amusement. “I didn't think it was physically possible for Mr. All-American to be a jerk. I thought that was my exclusive domain.”

“It still is,” Steve responded. He joined Natasha at the bar, the redhead already had a bottle of beer opened, and ready for him. “I just can't believe you've never seen a Shirley Temple movie. It's practically un-american!” 

“Well, I am technically Russian.”

“Good God,” Tony muttered while he rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “You both are officially the lamest people on earth. And for the record, even I've seen one of her movies, and I hate that black-and-white stuff.”

“What black-and-white stuff?” Pepper asked. She had just caught the tail-end of the conversation when she entered the room. Behind her was Thor and Clint. 

“Those God-awful black-and-white movies that these two insist on watching all the time,” Tony responded. He joined the accused two at the bar where a tumbler of expensive whiskey was waiting for him. 

“Those 'God-awful black-and-white movies' are classics,” Natasha said while continuing to tend bar. A second glass of wine was put for Pepper, and two more bottles of beers were put out for Thor, and Clint. “So don't knock them.”

“Seriously don't knock them,” Clint supplied. “I've seen her cut a man for saying Katherine Hepburn was a horrible actress.”

“Well, then you obviously deserved it,” Steve said.

“Did not!”

“Did too,” chorused Natasha and Steve.

“Then you've heard of the passing of the curly-haired one? Shirley Temple?” Thor asked. 

The four humans shared a look of surprise before turning to the blond god. “You've hear of Shirley Temple?” Tony asked incredulous. “On Asgard?”

“Of course, her movies are quite popular at home,” Thor said, and then paused for a moment. “Her golden locks, and tenacious spirit were a inspiration to us all on Asgard. No matter how bad things got, there was always a song, and dance in her heart. May Valhalla welcome her spirit with open arms, as befitting a woman of her stature.”

Thor's statement was met with a stunned silence that lasted nearly a full minute.

“She's in Valhalla?” Clint asked. “How the hell did that happen?”

“We made a deal with your God. We get her, and he gets two souls to be named later,” Thor said as if it were quite obvious.

“I, uh, didn't realize that was a thing,” Steve said slowly. He looked over to Natasha and gave a 'what the hell look', she responded by giving him a 'this way out of my pay grade' look. 

“It doesn't happen very often,” Thor said unaware of the discomfort around him. 

“Well, damn. Now I really feel horrible for never seeing any of her movies.”

“I forgive you Tasha,” Steve said solemnly, and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

Natasha's response was very mature: she blew a raspberry at him. 

“When we get home, we can watch her movies,” Steve continued, ignoring her response. “I'm sure they'll be on Netflix.”

“You can use Netflix? Since when?” Tony asked. “And why do you still dress like an old man? And when did you two move in together? And why haven't you had sex with each other?”

“Why wait that long?” Pepper asked, ignoring her boyfriend, as did everyone else. “We haven't seen you in almost two weeks. We can order take-out, and watch her movies together.”

Natasha, and Steve traded a look, and after a few moments, they nodded their heads in agreement. 

“Sure why not,” Steve said. “But before I forget, here.” 

He pulled out the keys to the borrowed car from his pant pocket, and tried to hand them over to Tony. But was waved off by the brunet.

“Keep it.”

“I can buy my own car, I don't need charity.”

“Then don't call it charity, call it an intervention.”

“Tony . . .” Pepper warned.

“What? Look at him, he has horrible fashion sense, he watches movies that are older than God, and he thinks Frank Sinatra is modern music. If I left him to own devices, he'd probably buy something out of the 1930's.”

“Frank Sinatra was an amazing singer, God rest his soul.” Natasha said before turning to Steve. “Are you really considering buy a car from the 30's?”

“Well . . . I always wanted a 1938 Bugatti type 57sc. It's art deco inspired, and a real beaut.”

Natasha nodded her head in appreciation, she wasn't surprised that an artist like Steve would go for a car like that.

Tony shook his head in disbelief. “Little Red, Little Red, you're suppose to be teaching him modern day living, not encouraging his anachronisms.”

“You're the only one here with a problem with his anachronisms. I personally like them, and since I'm the one dating him, all you're arguments are officially null and void.”

“And this conversation is also null and void,” Pepper said. 

She grabbed the billionaire by his ear, and pulled him to the entertainment room. She was quickly followed by Thor who began enthusiastically recalling his favorite Shirley Temple movies. They in turn were followed by a very unenthusiastic Clint, who all but dragged his feet grumbling about the stupidity of old movies.

This left Steve and Natasha alone.

The blond male leant down, and captured the Russian's lips with his own. When he pulled back, he was smiling shyly as if surprised at his own audacity.

“Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?” A small smile was curling the tips of her lips upward.

“You're beautiful? I felt like it? Because I always wanted a dame who would stick up for me?”

“Really? You do know that one of these days Tony's going to figure out you're not the hopeless mutt you pretend to be.” She stopped, and looked up at him. There was nothing but affection in her eyes, (perhaps love?) and a warm feeling spread through out his body. His heart felt as if it were expanding, and growing. “And do you often go around kissing beautiful women just because you feel like it?” 

“Only you Tasha. Only you.”

He leant down, and kissed her again. Natasha deepened it before pulling back with a laugh. She tugged him along. 

“C'mon loverboy. They're going to start to wonder what happened to us.”

He followed her (he'd follow her anywhere) to the entertainment-room where the others were not so patiently waiting for them. After three Shirley Temple movies, they moved on to the 'Fast and Furious' series.

Natasha, and Steve barely lasted a single movie before falling asleep on the couch. (Thor lasted two.)

“Unbelievable. They can stay conscious during the most boring movies ever created, but they can't last through one of the greatest movie franchises known to man,” Tony said. He waved his hand in front of Steve's face. “Anybody got a Sharpie?”

“Don't even think it, Tony,” Pepper admonished. Natasha's only reaction to the conversation was to snuggle closer to Steve.

“Wow, our little Nattie is a cuddler,” Tony said. “Who knew?”

“She never cuddled with me when we dated,” Clint said with an exaggerated pout.

“Poor, poor baby bird,” Tony said in mock sympathy. “C'mon, you and Thor can sleep in one of the guest rooms.”

The billionaire brunet went over to the blond god, and nudged him. “Hey big guy, time to wake up and go to bed.”

After several minutes, the three men and Pepper made their way to their sleeping quarters. It was decided in the interest of self-preservation that they would leave Natasha, and Steve to sleep where they were. The strawberry-blonde placed a blanket over their laps, turned out the light, and then tip-toed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, for some reason having Thor be a Shirley Temple fan, and having Steve forget to put the toilet seat down amused me.


End file.
